


Can I Have a Kiss?

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, This all starts because Sam finds an old photo album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam asks Dean to kiss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Have a Kiss?

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic was born out of me wondering what would happen if Sam straight up asked Dean for a kiss. Dean gives Sam anything and I just can't picture him denying Sam something so simple.
> 
> The story here can take place any time after they find the bunker. Enjoy!

Paying no attention to the hideous, sickly green wallpaper of their motel room, Sam leaned against the wall and pulled out the picture in his jacket once he heard Dean start the shower. It had been just over a week since he last looked at it and its familiar image made him smile. Hunters held on to small things to remind themselves that they were human and this is what Sam recently decided to hitch his sanity to.

Two months ago he and Dean had gone to their father’s storage compartment to retrieve his achieved files on vampire lineages when he stumbled across a photo album. The album was coated in a layer of dust so thick he only saw that it was royal blue once he cleaned it with his sleeve and the leather binding was so worn it creaked in protest when he opened it, but inside was a treasure trove of lost memories; birthdays, holidays, first days, etc. But what caught Sam’s attention were the “everyday” pictures, the ones that Dad seemed to have taken just for the hell of it.

The very first photo placed in the protective plastic pages was labeled “Sammy’s First Steps.” He’d always known that his whole world revolved around Dean during his childhood, but this was something even he could have never anticipated. Rather than walking towards his father, baby him, clad in nothing but a diaper, waddled towards Dean with wide, surprised eyes and outstretched arms. Dean was, of course, sitting cross-legged on the carpet waiting for him, fingers splayed wide to catch him if he fell, with a look of incandescent pride more fitting of a new father than a five year old brother. They both looked so innocent, so happy, that for a moment Sam was left breathless.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Caught unawares, Sam flinched when he realized that Dean had managed to hover over his shoulder, getting a good look at the album as well, with him none the wiser. The same look of pride five year old Dean wore was now his on his older counterpart’s face.

“Didn’t know the old man had a pic of that.”

“You remember it?”

“Hell yes,” Dean replied, sounding aghast that Sam would think such a thing as him possibly forgetting his baby brother’s first steps. “I’d been tryin’ to get you to walk for weeks and then you finally did it one night after dinner. That’s one of the proudest moments of my life right there.”

Before he could formulate a reply to Dean’s unabashedly emotional remembrance, Dean gently removed the picture from its plastic slot and slipped it into his jacket. After giving him a firm slap to his left bicep, he went back to searching the cabinets for all files pertaining to the Wilhelm clan, leaving Sam temporarily dazed. Sometimes it was like pulling teeth to get Dean to say anything even remotely emotional, other times he spoke so freely you would think he was naturally an open person. On one hand it made him smile, knowing Dean’s pride in him extended so far back in their history, but the same thought also saddened him. Unbeknownst to Dean, Sam knew that he was the person he is because of Dean’s steadfast guidance and not their loving, but ultimately absentee, father’s. Dean, whether he knew it or not, had effectively become Sam’s father from the tender age of four onwards.

Reverently turning the plastic pages, which could double as “Dean’s Greatest Hits: Parenting Edition,” Sam’s smile widened and he forgot why he was at the storage unit in the first place. Pictures of Dean holding him in his crib as they both slept, dressing him, changing his diaper, feeding him (probably doing his train!spoon routine), walking him around motel parking lots, looking on protectively as he pet his first dog, sitting him in his lap as they watched Star Trek littered the pages, forcibly reminding him of how much Dean had done for him and for how long.

Just before he was about to close the photo album, prepared to sneak it into their haul so he could take it back to the bunker, a picture with a frayed corner caught his eye. He was holding out his 1st place ribbon from the sixth grade science fair he participated in as Dean pointed at it with one hand, the other tangled in Sam’s long hair. What caught Sam’s attention wasn’t his own disgruntled, but tolerant expression or the exploding volcano project in the background, but what Dean was doing. He was giving him a kiss to the crown of his head, expression of pride firmly in place even though his face was buried in Sam’s hair. The photo caused a torrential flood of memories to crowd his conscious thoughts as he remembered how often Dean affectionately kissed him goodnight, when he was hurt, or in instances when he was exceptionally proud of him. What caused him pause, however, was that he couldn’t remember a single time Dean kissed him after that science fair. Dean yelling at him to get a move on and help him carry out boxes of documents pulled him out of his ruminating, but not before he tucked the photo in his own jacket pocket and hid the album in a box headed home for further examination.

Now here he was, months later, still looking at that photo wondering what changed that day to make Dean never kiss him again. At first he tried to pass off his curiosity as simple interest, but he now accepted that it was more than that; it was obsession and one whose reasons he felt exceedingly uncomfortable examining. The sound of the shower turning off was his cue to tuck the picture away, but he didn’t move from his position against the wall. For some reason, he suddenly felt emotionally drained and his bed looked miles away.

“Showers yours, but fair warning Sammy, the water temp makes jumping into Lake Wissota in the middle of January sound awesome,” Dean called over his shoulder as he rummaged through his duffel bag looking for clean clothes and boxers to sleep in.

Sam detachedly watched a drop of water slide out of his still-wet hair and down his spine, resting in the small of his back before getting absorbed by the towel wrapped around his waist. Pulling out some clothes, he turned to head back to the bathroom, but not before Sam’s mouth moved without permission.

“Can I have a kiss?”

If he wasn’t so shocked by his own question, he was sure he would have had a heyday picturing Dean’s face when he said it. The muscles of his back constricted, defining them clearer than they already were, and his upper body twitched in the direction of the bathroom. Sam catalogued the fight or flight response with surprise. Not even three hours ago they had faced off against five vampires and _now_ he was scared?

“What did you just say?”

Blood rushed to Sam’s cheeks and he looked at the brown stained carpet, now fully conscious of what he was asking for. Filling his voice with false bravado, he answered, “I asked if I could have a kiss.”

Dean turned slowly to face him, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed around the suffocating air now filling the room. His eyes flicked up to connect with Sam’s uncertainly, like he was still confused with what Sam had just said.

Or seriously questioning his sanity.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said as he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “I just, I don’t know, thought about how you used to give me kisses all the time when I was younger and that you don’t do it anymore.”

“That’s because you’re a grown ass man now, dude.”

“Yeah, I get that. I just don’t know why you can’t do it anymore.”

Looking away from each other, they fell into silence which quickly became awkward. Sam was regretting not saying something flippant and dismissive, “Could we have fish. You know, for dinner. Jesus, Dean, what the hell did you think I said!?,” and Dean was most likely calculating how long it would take him to get to the nearest cliff so he could drive off of it. Just when he was about to push off the wall and immerse himself in the task of finding a new job without another word, Dean shifted self-consciously and loudly cleared his throat.

“Is this important to you?”

Nodding his head in affirmation, he watched Dean in his periphery. He still looked disbelieving, probably wondering what he did that was so awful in a past life to deserve this, but he nodded and said, “Okay. Alright,” more to himself than to Sam. Then, taking determined strides across the room, Dean was soon in his personal space, the air between them becoming inexplicably charged. He still hadn’t turned to look at his brother when he felt the quick press of slightly chapped lips to his cheek. It didn’t last long and before he could say something, Dean walked away, grabbed his clean clothes off the bed, and slammed the bathroom door closed behind him.

Sam fell asleep an hour later wondering if Dean had somehow managed to successfully drown himself in the toilet.

~~~

“Motherfucker!”

“Cowboy up, Sam. You’ve been through worse than this.”

“We’ll talk next time a wen-FUCK!-digo digs its claws into your back.”

Time to time, Sam thought about the early days with Dean when they had hunted down creatures like wendigos and would think, “Wow, it was so much easier back then.” There were no angels or demons, no apocalypse, and there sure as Hell wasn’t all the bad blood that swam between them now like some dark undercurrent threatening to take them under. They were simple creatures, driven by either a need to protect or cause the maximum amount of suffering they were capable of before they were taken out. It was nice, in a way, to deal with such predictability. Refreshing.

So refreshing, in fact, that he forgot just how fucking _awful_ these things could be.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

“Sammy, I swear to god, if you flinch one more time I’ll feed you to a yeti.”

“Yetis don’t exist.”

“Then I’ll feed you to a chupacabra.”

“No one’s actually seen a chupacabra.”

“Fine. One day I’ll lie and tell you were goin’ to the exhibit that has all those serial killer brains in it because you’re sick and wanna see it - ”

“ – we aren’t even close - ”

“ – but I’ll actually take you to the zoo and feed you to a brown bear that hasn’t eaten in a week.”

Dean’s playful banter and knowing his threat was hollow was enough to help distract Sam from the pain of Dean stitching the deep scratches along his back, but what really did the job was focusing on Dean’s hands running comforting circles over the parts of his back which were currently not in shreds. For all his big talk of feeding him to hungry animals, Sam knew that Dean felt his pain as if it were his own. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner they would both be on the road to recovery.

“Dean?” Sam whispered, still trying not to focus on the pain of him stitching the last slash.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

A few weeks had passed since he’d first asked for a kiss and he’d sworn to himself that he’d never do it again because of the residual weirdness it caused for a few hours the next morning, but right now he was in pain and he didn’t give a shit about what he may or may not have promised in his own head.

His reply came minutes later in the form of Dean kissing the cut closest to the base of his neck, the one that hurt the worst to stitch, before he dressed his wounds.

~~~

The djinn had managed to get away, what with Dean being more focused on Sam than killing the damn thing. Sam knew Dean wanted nothing more than to go after it for having the audacity to attack him, swallowing him into a world that was more macabre than blissful for over twenty-four hours, but when he saw the condition Sam was in, he abandoned those thoughts in favor of ones that involved keeping him alive.

Five days later, Sam was feeling better and Dean had caught whiff of the djinn’s trail. He insisted that Sam stay behind since he wasn’t one-hundred percent yet while he went after it. None of his pleas to wait for him got through Dean’s walls; nothing did when it came to him being hurt while whatever did it was still breathing.

“There’s nothing I can say to make you stay?”

“Nope.”

Sam sighed from his place in bed, watching the muted Mexican soap opera so he didn’t have to look at Dean collecting supplies for his duffel with more aggression than absolutely necessary. Once he zipped the bag up and secured its strap across his shoulder, Sam felt he could get away with asking his new favorite question.

“Can I have a kiss?”

If he hadn’t been watching him so closely, or grown up watching his every move hoping to be like him someday, he wouldn’t have seen the defeated sag of his shoulders. That puzzled Sam more than anything because for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what would cause him to feel defeat out of all the possible reactions he could have. He couldn’t help but wonder what made this time different from the two others.

Dean laid the duffel back on his bed as he approached Sam. The way he looked at him with such tenderness and pure adoration made Sam ache in a way that had nothing to do with the wounds or sickness caused by the djinn. Impossibly loving, calloused hands cupped his cheeks and he felt Dean kiss his forehead, long and hard enough for him to have to take a breath.

It was only minutes after Dean left that Sam realized he had shed a single tear when it splashed gently onto his chest.

~~~

Sam was so focused on watching the snowy trees pass through the Impala’s window that he almost didn’t notice Dean lift his hand from his lap so he could kiss it.

He was pretty sure he did not ask for that kiss.

~~~

Being in the bunker gave Sam the feeling of being protected, of having a home to go to when he needed to escape the world and all its monsters, albeit only temporarily.

Tonight had been a good night. Dean had barbequed them a couple of steaks, baked them a few potatoes, and steamed some peas to give themselves the illusion of being healthy. It was endearing to watch Dean toil away in the kitchen, worrying about the cook times as he barked at Sam to get the hell away from the spice rack. Not wanting Dean to feel as if he were doing all the work, Sam baked an apple pie as a thank you for the meal. Dean was currently eating what was left of it straight out of the tin.

Smiling to himself, Sam relaxed against his headboard and turned back to the TV, cringing at the Red Wedding and not just because of all the gore.

“The book did it better. I don’t like this. Too over the top.”

“Rawd yer ucha geek.”

“Eat your pie.”

A couple minutes later, a contented sigh signaled to Sam that Dean had finished his pie. Thinking Dean would leave when he was tired, Sam started another episode of GoT and allowed himself to further sink into his mattress, slouching in a position that probably looked uncomfortable but felt great. Sam was surprised that halfway through the episode, Dean still hadn’t left and, unlike him, had grown fidgety and discomfited. Contemplating ways of asking him what was wrong without actually asking what was wrong, he was astonished to feel Dean’s shaking fingers slowly turn his head to face him.

His nervousness bled through his fingers and into Sam’s body, but his face was determined. Heat spread through him as Dean’s eyes flicked to his lips, silently asking permission to cross the line that their kisses never did. Sam would like to say he saw this coming, but he couldn’t, not really. An undefined tension had been building between them for years that somehow got pushed into an all new realm when Sam started asking for kisses. If Sam assented to this, he knew there was no going back. So many bridges would burn if they did this, but it could build new ones, too, stronger ones.

Life is all about taking risks isn’t it? All or nothing at this point, Sam thought as he looked into Dean’s increasingly fearful green eyes. He had already taken the biggest risk, might as well meet him part of the way.

When he pressed his lips to Dean’s, Sam felt his fingertips dig into his cheek and heard his sharp intake of breath through his nose. It killed Sam a little bit to know that Dean thought he was probably going to get rejected after putting himself out on the line, but then again, this wasn’t some random person in a bar he was hitting on. This was his brother, the one person he should never think of in such a light. If Sam had rejected him, the knowledge that Dean had tried to kiss him - in a romantic way - would sit foul and ugly between them until one of them cracked. Something was still definitely going to change between them, but maybe it would help them start to heal old wounds instead of create new ones.

For better or for worse, Sam had always known Dean was a submissive when it came to romantic relationships. That became abundantly clear when he met Cassie all those years ago, and was confirmed now when he let Sam guide his face to an angle that made it easier to kiss him. His plush lips easily parted when Sam grazed his tongue along the bottom one, asking for the silent permission lovers seek in their partner.

Dean’s moan as he dipped his tongue into his mouth sang through him like a holy choir and the taste of it was a revelation. The spice from the pie added a delicious background to the sweet bite of apples. Tasting his mouth was like eating an apple from the Tree of Knowledge. It was forbidden, but there was no taste more desirable in the universe.

Leaving the warmth of his mouth, he left him with a sort of calling card of his; a firm nip of his bottom lip. Opening his eyes, he smirked that his kiss, far from being his most destructive but not lacking that same potency, left Dean stunned and scrambling to pick up the pieces.

“I didn’t ask for that one.”

“Yeah, well, up until recently I’d never been asked to give one.”

“Tamara Wilson.”

“Oh, she wanted kisses, but not like yours. You see, she wanted me to - ”

“Okay, you’re done.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

“You are. You really are, Dean.”

Laughing to themselves, they sat in a comfortable silence wondering where they went from here. Did they alter their relationship to include the occasional make out session or did they shoot for more? What they just did certainly felt like they both wanted more, but who’s to say this little morsel of information wouldn’t cause a freak out of epic proportions once they realized what they’d mutually agreed to? Truthfully, Sam couldn’t care less about what people thought anymore. They already broke practically every social construct known to man at this point and this, whatever now brewed between him and Dean, was hardly the worst of it.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think either here or on my Tumblr, [mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed your read!


End file.
